The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1887-09-04

All! Biddy! Kind, true hearted Biddy! I
wonder if anything could haye touched me
as did your rough, homely words. How, at
thought Oh your white rose, lying on his
breast, the warm, healing tears flowed for
The first time. How your description of the
pure, peaceful face reused me from the
stupor of grief that had fallen upon me- to
hasten to my darling's side A few hours
| later, nurse came to say that a woman
wished to see ME below. | shook my head,
and begged not to be disturbed. Presently
there was a knock at the door l arose to
! open 1t, and Edith stood before me- She
! was scarcely changed. The same command
/ ing figure, the same colorless face, lit up
! with weird-looking black eyes-sad eyes
they Were always, but now, as they met
mine, SO full of horror and pain that could
not bear to see them. | could not speak the
unklnd words that were in my heart, as |
/ thought of all she had made him suffer. |
only pointed to that still figure | knew
the patient, weary face would be reproach
j enough. With her old queenly grace, she
crossed the room and stood beside him. Not
a treInor of the proud lips, not CULVER of
/ the eyelids, told of any emotion. She stood
there, motionless and calm, before the man
who had been her husband. 1t drove me
mad.
Woman cried, ''have you no hearth
Can you stand thus unmoved before the ruin
your own hands have wrought! He loved
you, and you only; he would have died for
you, and you broke his heart the tenderest
and truest that ever beat in mortal bosom!"
Whatever else l might have said died on
my lips, for she turned and looked at me.
shall never forget the dumb entreaty of that
look-its hopeless agony! | crossed the
room and lifted the sheet from his dear
face
Edith" whispered, "forgive mel If
You loved him, forgive me! He left you
his blessing; your name was the last on his
lips"
/ As she caught sight of the rigid face, so
still, SO sweet and grand in the majesty
death sometimes lends, low cry broke
from her lips, and the next moment she was
sobbing unanimously on his breast.
80, Harold o, my darling! loved you
i loved you | would give all the years
of my life for one word of forgiveness from
those white lips!'
l was powerless to comfort such grief as
this, and left them alone together.
When l went back. an hour later, Edith
was sitting on the floor, with his hand in
hers, talking incoherently to herself, or to
him. | caught the words:
Yes, have come back to you, and will
never leave you agaln-never! And shall
never be jealous again, and call you cold
because you are quiet, for | know you love
me; oh! yes, [ know it now"@
"Too late! too late! He will not speak to
me-he does not even tell me that he for
gives mew
Even then fever had set in. She has not
been conscious since. 1t is dreadful to hear
her piteous cries for forgiveness. Dr. Hawks
is very kind. l forgive her now, and, God
knows, my heart has bled for her. She has
been more quiet to-day, and the doctor says
there is some hope. | have not spoken of
Josie, because my grief for her has been SO
bitter 1 could not bear to speak of it,
l said my dear brothers last words were
of Edith That was the passion of his life
| never knew until then how much he had
loved her: how he had worn her image in
his heart, through all these weary months
how he had watched for her return to the
very last; how perfect his love was, in that,
at any moment, he was ready to take her
back to his heart. But quite as tender,
though different, was his love for Josie, his
''baby girl he always called her. 1t was
hard for him to go without a last good bye
from her-hard for him, yet, OH! so much
harder for heI-to have to hear the dread
full news, all unprepared for it, as she was,
and so far away! When she did hear it, she
could not come, just to kiss his sweet face
once, as she SO longed to do, because she had
not the means to come and return, and she
could not afford to lose her place. 0, grim,
hideous poverty, how many heartacheS you
have given our ill-starred family So there
was nothing to do but bear it alone-we
two who could so much have ightened it
for each other-for Josie is brave, as well as
tender, and she is all the world to me!
Feb co. have not had the heart to send
this bundle of egotism. 1t bears so many
different dates that | ought not to send it,
at ALL But, somehow, want you to know
Do you remember how you used to beguile
me into telling you all my secretSl Once,
when Josie was playing Queen Mary" and
beheaded my prettiest wax doll, how sob
bed it all out on your breast! That is your
great charm, Jeffrey-the silent, subtle
power of sympathy How we'll l remember
when you first came to us, at your mothers
death, boy of II, so full OF your loss that
your lips would culver and your eyes fill at
every mention of her name, and yet strug-
Cling manfully to be merry with the rest of
us! / ought not to have gone back to those
dear old days. Ali it seems like another
life! You win feel as if you are reading a
novel when you come to the last event in
my chapter of sorrows How strange that
such things are happening every day in the
world around us, and yet, when they come
into our own lives, they seem too horrible to
be borne, 1 am not SO wicked Is | was.
do not know what l might have been, but
for Biddy's loving philosophy.
'Its yourself as has dale O. trouble, my
! lamb" she says 10 me, an YET there be
miny heart in this greet city as has all the
throble as makes yer own axe an throb,
with niver bit o. the blissed comfurt aye,
sure an miny heart as is heavy with
keers, an with sin an crime, too, for the
matter o. that, an all because there's niver
q soul to say koind wurrud, or do koind
dade, while it's yourself as has the swate
mimories O your darlint, an a clane heart,
for sure, as knows it done it's dooty by him,
and not loike the poir Teddy reproachin' of
itself from morrun till noightp
You mustn get tired of Biddy O'Flan-
nigan's talk, for she always says the right
thing. For all her coarse hands and red
face, she has true woman's heart. 1t is
wonderful, the tact and delicacy that under
lie some of her rough sayings.
Edith has been very, very ILL., A week
ago she was better, and could sit up nearly
ali day in her room. But she took no inter
est in anything around her. 1t was heart
rending to see her sitting there, her great
ewes full of a settled despair, refusing all
comfort, and looking so utterly desolate
There was little could say to her. Once
asked her if it would not comfort her to
talk of him, and she put up her hand, as if
/ had struck her.
mot now" she said, mot noww
/ strove in many ways to cheer her, but
in vain. Sometimes / would read to her.
but knew from her eyes that she did not
| n,,a rainy daU mhar | had haau